“Put on your red dress slip on your high heels and some of that sweet perfume…”
Music was playing as we sat at our glass kitchen table. I remember my mother cracking open some crab legs and drinking a Colt 45, you could catch her with a 40oz on any given day. I remember her saying, “you don’t know about these oldie but goodies baby girl”. I smiled like I always did at my mom, I was her baby and my big sister constantly reminds me how spoiled I was. Every thing was good; there were never any worries when her boyfriend wasn’t around so of course those moments were short lived. He finally gets home and I remember he seemed to be in a good mood. I never really knew how the fights started they just always did. Almost touching noses my mother and her boyfriend were all in each other’s face. “Bitch you gonna respect my mind”, whatever that meant. In the same breath he grabbed my mother’s head and smashed it into the kitchen table. Blood was running from the hole in her head like a faucet. This time we didn’t receive curbside service he had his mother who lived across the street take my mother to the hospital. What can I say my mother was a trooper she survived with just a few stitches. Afterwards I remember my mom telling family members that he slung her around and she fell into the table. I used to think to myself why wouldn’t she tell them the truth? I have come t o learn that abusers often threaten to hurt your family members and friends if you told. So instead of being weak for staying I like to believe she was a hero, protecting my sibling’s and I.